Gears grinded in his mind, both literally and metaphorically. These sodding meta-humans were an amusing chase, but yet he yearned for something more. He had hunted many a thing in his time, and none of it really compared to the feeling of animal against man. These days, he likened himself more to the role of assassin than the role of hunter, and it perturbed him so. The challenge was against mortal man and mind, no longer against primal rage and self-preservation. His targets now begged to be left alive, where they used to offer no quarter and fight with heightened ferocity the nearer they were to their demise.

He pulled himself back to reality. The silly townspeople heard of terrible things in this particular jungle, meta-humans that had been living and even toying with the general population. But really, he knew better. He knew that the metas wouldn't risk their own tail for some jollies; no, they only played with what came to play with them. Ahead of him was a group of some of these self-righteous, pitchfork-wielding hillbillies. Sure, they carried pistols, sure they had the makings of armor on, but they were untrained self-made 'heroes', and they would die for it. He amused himself with their failings, and made his presence unknown to them. When they made their play and fell into the meta trap, only then would he take action.

He took survey of the area around him. His extended silenced rifle slung across his back, yet hung near his side. On the bore of the gun emblazoned the words: "If a tree falls in a forest and there's no one around, does it make a sound?" Carved on the stock of the gun are several hundred scratch-marks, all staggered so as to suggest some semblance of a pattern, but with no words to describe them. The scope on the gun was half-removed, and completely unusable to the average human. To peer through it would be akin to using someone else's glasses to see, finding that it only worsens your vision. The extended clip hung below the weapon, and two other clips were attached to it in parallel for fast-reloading as needed.

His right arm grinded slightly without a sound. Tch, the oil is sticking. It was the damned humidity.

The 'heroes' ventured further into the jungle ahead of him, but he sat simply and contentedly upon a large rock formation overlooking their path. They would be beyond the range of sight of the average man, and as if knowing of some challenge only he could succeed at, he tipped his wide-brimmed hat down further. Between the high, popped-up sides of his jacket's collar a slight whirring sound emanated, and what appeared to be a telescope poked out slightly, keeping track of his quarry.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

Caile hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. But she was not going to say that out loud. She hardly even noticed the hand Spyder offered her as they reached a platform that was seemingly made entirely of spider’s silk, and she strained to wipe the look of delight from her face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, spotting the hand for the first time, “thank you.”

Focus, dear…she scolded herself, giving a kind of harrumphing cough and furrowing her brow. Let us review: vampire/spider, humans, murder holes, a very long fall to the ground, and—oh that’s right—you almost accepted help from a vampire? She silently thanked Lady Luck for whatever force had given her paws at birth; the strange platform, comprised as it was of only silken strands, formed a fairly sturdy floor. However, Caile disliked the way the strands tightened and loosened slightly as you stood on them—the floor itself was deceptive, and for all its sturdiness was not perfectly stable. If you didn’t pay attention, the gentle, almost imperceptible rocking of the strings would surely buck off a being without either a clear sense of where the strings would move him or a set of very forgiving feet. Caile, fortunately, was blessed with the latter, and could feel the pads on her feet flexing comfortably around strings that would clearly have given, say, a human trouble. Her paws gave her as firm and sure a stance as she might get on the ground, her tail provided added dexterity, and her ability to sense the tension of the strings, she flattered herself, meant she might learn to be able to manipulate the platform as well—if she, for whatever reason, decided on an extended stay in the tree tops.

A glance told her everything she needed to know about the traps and slippage spots—Spyder had really done a job fitting of an orb weaver or grass spider. She couldn’t restrain a nod of admiration. Really clever work…

And he had asked her up here. Did he expect she couldn’t handle it and would fall to her death? Seemed unlikely, and also not in his best interests, at least for the moment. He wouldn’t have offered to show her the place or even help her up if he just wanted her back on the ground. She would probably have to worry about being too secure in a cocoon of spider silk rather than sprawled across one of his traps. Caile surveyed the décor—bleached bones and skulls. She snorted. Probably his idea of a joke. Once again, she loosened the leather straps that secured her spiked daggers in their sheathes. As long as she kept her wits about her, she could handle this.

She realized he had spoken to her again, and snapped to attention. “Hmm…what?”

Mentally she beat herself. Idiot! That plan about not getting killed long enough to make it to the drop off point? Not going to succeed if you keep this up…

He let her take in the area for a moment before getting down to business.His palms were itching, a sign of something partway between anticipation of the kill to come and a nagging sensation that there was something to the picture he was missing. With natural ease he crossed the threshold of webbing in a crisscross manner, dodging murder holes and sticky strands as if he had only just placed them there. The hole in the side of the ancient tree held a few personal belongings, spare clothes, ointments, things to care for his weapons, a pocket sammich maker that held no charge and a few small crockery dishes with dried fruits and assorted trinkets from past meals. There was a hammock as well and beside that a glittering sheen of strands that came together in a complex pattern to form a haphazard grid of sorts. He gently placed his hand upon it and after a moment turned back to the lioness.

Still taking everything in, she didn't hear him speak. He waited a moment as she snapped back to herself.He began again. "You said you could do illusions, could you project them from here to the jungle floor?"He stepped away from the tree and glanced down one of the nearest holes in the 'floor' to gaze at the jungle below. They were a good height up from the ground, far enough that a person would have to crane their neck and peer straight up to catch a glimpse of the place above. Not that it would help them overly much as Zephyr had taken his time to crisscross vines and branches beneath the webway that it might just appear as if the jungle trees had grown together. A not all uncommon sight in some places.

"A distraction from here to there would draw them in."He let a grin cross his features. "And then we can decide if they mean well or not."He glanced at her, mostly the mohawk, but then back to her feline face.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Caile nodded, holding back a slight smirk as she swirled her hands in front of her, rather like a sculptor might caress her clay. The air colored and eddies of wind collided like waves, coalescing into a concrete form.

A replica of Spyder stood before her with a blank expression that didn’t quite suit him, but was fairly close in appearance. Caile allowed herself an impish grin and made the illusion pull a face at the real Spyder, before commanding him to drop to the jungle floor. Illusory Spyder did so, lithely and silently swinging himself to the ground in a very good imitation of the reality’s movements.

Caile crouched at the edge of the hole in the webbing. Better to have the illusion approach the band of humans as if trying to hide himself…

She gestured. Illusory Spyder peered cautiously around a tree bole in the group’s path. It would have been nice if she could have generated some rustling bushes as well, but this would have to do. All that remained was to wait for the humans to notice him.

Zephyr blinked as he soon found himself starring at what could only be a replica.The first thing that came to his mind was There is no way I look that stupid... the next ...or that fat.He glanced at his slim figure for a moment before shaking the thought away. The illusion made a face at him and he sucked at his teeth in a slight sneer before watching it clamber to the jungle floor below in a series of movements he found both distasteful and lacking grace. The lioness crouched to no doubt have a closer handle on the false thing. Zephyr remained standing, crossing his arms and waiting for a moment.

"Crude...but effective." he murmured before walking a few feet to the next open hole.Taking a piece of metal he rubbed his fingers and palm together before adhering the sticky strands of web to it. Down it went into the air before smacking a branch or two and causing leaves to rustle and fall. Satisfied he drew the fragment back up and slit the webbing from the metal fragment before discarding it to the pile. He made the same hand gesture and the webbing fell away from him.

"Let us see what comes our way..."He spoke loud enough to be heard, but not at Caile in particular.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

She couldn’t help but appreciate the rustles Spyder produced. The humans obviously heard them—the four of them jumped, and turned their weapons on the offending underbrush. One of them, whose swagger and bluster marked him as the leader, caught sight of Caile’s illusion. His face split in an idiotic grin, and he elbowed his friend. “Fresh meat.”

With a flick of her hand, Caile sent the illusion to dash off into the clearing below her and the spider. The leading human jogged obligingly after it, grin still plastered to his face. His fellows reluctantly followed, clearly not quite as keen on the expedition as a whole, clutching their pistols as if clutching lifeboats. Caile allowed her illusion to dissipate, and scuttled across the platform to watch the progress of the human party.

When he saw the clearing was empty, the humans’ leader laughed. “Aww, come on out, bud. Are you afraid of us?” His friends looked at him like he was crazy.

Total silence greeted the man’s taunt.

Total silence. In the middle of the jungle. Caile prevented herself from nervously shifting her weight—didn’t want to throw herself off the platform by accident—but her tail twitched in agitation. Something else wasn’t right.

He was still mostly slumped, clearly not intent on anything at the moment. Within moments, the telescope that peaked out from under the brim of his cover maneuvered forward slightly, and came to alignment with the half-scope on the rifle. As they reached each other, the two connected in some macabre manner that other mortals might call sickly. To take in the sight would require you to grasp that the scope was, indeed, a part of the man's face.

Everything came into view. He adjusted the focal length of the scope to take in more of the scene. The men were making some kind of sounds, and chasing something. The figure they followed moved with hollow precision, as though it were not really moving at all. He mused over the possible magicks that could produce such things, and surmised that if they indeed existed, they would come to play in full measure shortly. The figure vanished, and one of the men took a forward motion as if trying to lure it out.

What fools these mortals be.

He sat upright, holding his weapon with the precision of a truly deadly implement, and waited to see just how his bait would squirm.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

He was grinning on the inside.As usual, that cold thing happened to his gut and his face reflected none of the inner mirth he felt. He grew sharp, for there was killing to be done. Killing, perhaps some feasting, and looting to be sure. This was 'his' gorge after all and while he did not mind sharing it he would suffer no fools to be in his presence. For long... They moved into position and like always there was a man further to the back that was simply begging to be killed.

Zephyr moved to another hole in the ground and flexed his fingers. He palmed his hands together and began to make a motion as if he was washing his hands. After a moment he sat at the edge of the hole and placed his hands around his boots just above the ankle as if he was wrapping up a garment. Satisfied it would hold just long enough, he applied more to the area around the the hole in a thick strand, like braiding a rope together from smaller twine. Two loops and it was complete. No more than a minute or two had passed as he prepared. Glancing once more to make sure his target was still in acceptable range he shifted off the edge without so much as another thought and fell.

Fell for a brief moment before he completed his binding and wiped his hands together, clearing the web. He turned to face the rapidly accelerating ground and prepared his arms for the strike. The reaper was there, for the mans head slipped perfectly between Zephyrs arms and with a sudden grating twist of clashing bone and sinew he released the man as the web began to pull him back, dropping the man onto the jungle floor. Twisting, Zephyr cut his legs free with his elbow blade and grabbed the web with his left hand before beginning his ascent in a rapid succession of hand over hand.

He reached the hole in the webway, but chose instead to lay flat against the underside of the webbing and watch the scene unfold.

- - -

He didn't want to be out here.Everyone made him do it. A noise...OH GOD...OH GOD WHY... his hands shook so bad he had trouble holding onto the weapon he was handed. He didn't even know how to use it. He didn't even...have a thought left as for a moment light fell to dark and life, to death. To his knees first, then his body followed, and like a tree cut, fell upon the jungle floor.

The man collapsed with a visibly twisted neck.Dead eyes gazing into nothingness.His companion turned just in time to see those dead eyes and shout a curse.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Damn it! The fun had already started. Half those kills belonged to her, and already there were only three to choose from. Circling to a tree opposite Spyder, Caile dropped through a hole in the platform and grabbed onto the trunk, extending all her claws and riding the bark to the base.

Caile hit the ground hard but absorbed the shock with a quick roll that brought her securely to her feet. The humans looked stunned and she took advantage of it. Summoning her powers of illusion, she straightened to a greater height and bulk than she should have possessed and roared, a true lion’s roar to set hearts trembling. To the humans, her shoulders looked thick and sinewy, bristling with tough, furred hide and her jaws were stretched to accommodate a mouth full of furious teeth.

The spell had the desired effect. Even the one blustering in front of his fellows faltered, and Caile took the opportunity to leap to the figure on the right with her daggers drawn. Hardly slowing, her blades danced around her target, nicking him in all the right places to bleed him out, slowly—inner arm, neck, inner thigh—and dodged deftly around the man as he crumpled in shock and pain. She continued forward, swinging around a tree trunk and murmuring a spell of invisibility. It was likely unnecessary at this point, but, as she climbed the tree to the lowest branch, she couldn’t help chuckling at the added level of panic her seeming complete disappearance would create.

An action, a fall, a swing, bungee falling and rising, and a man falls to the ground dead. The actions were too quick to risk a shot, but he definitely saw the figure that had before moved so emptily now move with the vigor of one learned in the arts of assassination. Clearly, that was no illusion. He hadn't made out a face, or any strange and outlandish mutations; no, the man looked just like that, as though a man.. at least as far as he had noticed. No other features were distinguishable. Having learned this about his true quarry, he would keep it on the forefront of his mind as he engaged it down the line.

And then, out of nowhere...

A giant... Lion thing fell from the trees clumsily, grew in size nearly threefold, spent the better part of a fourth of a minute roaring for some unknown reason, and then instead of using those razor claws, decided to nickel and dime one of the poor men to death with butter knives. He couldn't help it; he laughed. Not loud enough that any could hear, especially not at this distance, but the sight he had just beheld amused him greatly. So he was fighting an elegant assassin... and a blundering buffoon. The thought that these two were somehow working together painted an even more humorous picture in his mind. He probably would have shot the creature square between the eyes if it hadn't amused him so.

It winded around a tree and he noticed some manner of camouflage being applied. He came to just long enough to flip the filter on his scope, seeing the lion creature right through the poor disguise. He exhaled a long breath, aligned the shot for but a moment, and willed the gun to fire.

The gun was silent, more quiet even than the leaves that fell from the trees, or the wind on a day where the sky stood still. More loud than the gun that fired was the breath that the man exhaled before firing it. He whispered to himself under his breath as the bullet sailed through the sky directly at the creature's left breast:

"If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around, does it make a sound?"

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep

He watched, perplexed.The element of surprise had been shattered beyond repair and the majority of his fun spent itself out into a single kill. He sighed and chastised himself for pulling such a figure up to his webway. No doubt someone could get lucky and see where she was heading to and then he'd have to make a mess of everyone. He clambered back into the hole and sat on the edge peering down. She was skilled with a knife, that was for sure, skill with her magic weaving or chanting or whatever it is THOSE types did, but her tactics were something underdeveloped. Where had the lass that escaped a basilisk gone? Perhaps that was something of a fluke after all.

He stiffened.It was as if all the silken strings in the world had just been pulled tightly about his chest.Just as quickly as it held him there it was gone.Whatever it was, it didn't concern him. He turned his gaze back to the jungle floor and the men thereupon.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Something slashed across her side. Caile sucked a breath in through her teeth and crashed into the tree, but managed to hang on. The hand she touched to her side came up red. The hell…? A piece of her leather armor had been torn away. Definitely not evidence of a knife blade. Probably a bullet…

Hoping her invisibility spell was holding, Caile swung herself to the other side of the trunk. That’s what I get for my dramatic entry, I suppose. But she hadn’t heard the discharge of a gun. Whoever did this was a pro, had probably been tracking her for a while. She sniffed the air. The stench of the humans made it difficult to pick out anything else, but there—a metallic tang on the breeze. This was what she’d been worried about: someone who wanted to kill her and could actually manage it.

No more time for niceties, she had to go.

Caile checked her invisibility. It had held. Again, she slid to the base of the trunk, but did not immediately enter the clearing. She locked her eyes on the two remaining humans and waited to see what they would do.

He stood in disbelief.The man before him had just been sliced like a side of pork, bleeding out like a stuck pig and coughing up bile and blood. The creature had struck without warning, a vast monster that descended upon them without mercy or remorse. Everything that had ever been said about the metahumans was true. They were a corruption of humanity and lacking that human side, must be put to the torch. He turned to his compatriots, only to find that somewhere along the line another man had been claimed, his neck twisted and gnarled like an ancient tree.

Anger gripped him, overcoming his fear and doubt. Raw crimson rage filled his mind.He turned and raised his weapon and fired into the jungle. A storm of bullets began to pepper the area. Bark exploded from trees lashing out with a fine spray of wooden shards. Vines snapped, sticky sap spraying down among the leaves. Branches fell from some of the stray shots. The other man dove for the cover of the jungle floor, not really caring, or having time to care, about the various insects that could shorten his lifespan. He covered his head and ears as best he could, shouting for the man to stop.

He did stop, his weapon smoking from the discharge, his finger tightening on the trigger only to be rewarded with the audible -click- of a dry fire. His gaze never left the jungle even as his hands fumbled for another magazine to feed his lead spitter. He racked the slide back and continued his crazed vigil. There was a brief silence that hung in the air for a moment before someone...somewhere...started clapping.

- - -

He had seen this play before.All righteous anger and burning rage coupled with stupidity and an overzealous trigger finger made for a brief display of what passed for power among humans. Zephyr shook his head and even as bullets flew and the sound of weapons fire rang in his ears he came upon a wicked, awfully fun, idea. He couldn't say if the lioness was alright but a part of him had no care. She chose to go down among them and her life was her own. Zephyr on the other hand preferred to break his final prey before the sweet sweet taste of oblivion. He ran his tongue along a fang at the thought as he scurried back down the hole onto the underside of the webway.

Making his way to a tree, out of sight of the gunman, he stepped to the highest branch, leaned back against the bark and just as the silence descended, he shattered it by clapping his hands three times.

Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Heh. He had fired, and nicked the creature. Apparently it had shifted its weight in just the right way to avoid a mortal blow at the very last moment. He cursed his luck, but felt redeemed by the fact that he had somehow hit a moving target swooping around the back-end of a tree, and of which he didn't even have proper line of sight. That said, he knew his position hadn't yet been compromised, so he wasn't pressed about waiting for another shot to manifest itself. Only two of his puppets remained, however, which put him in an unfortunate situation.

He sniffed the air, sensing for the humidity level. It was still palpably sticky, and thus he had no luck there either. Reaching around to his back and unbuckling what could only be described as a sheathe, the slick sheen of metal being extracted from leather could be heard. His well-kept and jaggedly edged machete with strange attachments came into view, and he examined it momentarily, looking it over with his one free eye before being satisfied. He detached his connected eye for a minute, pulled his rifle close to him, and wired the strange knife's attachments through some studs on the front of the rifle to attach it, forming an extended bayonet of sorts.

Hopping down from his vantage point, he moved silently and with purpose to a nearby tree, his rifle at the ready. He approached the tree, with a fresh vantage point, and an easier view into the treetops, and crouched low. In doing so, a slight whirring sound emanated from his knee joints, as if spring-loading themselves into place. Without so much as a cranking sound, they clamped outward and propelled him ten feet into the air and up the tree, where he grabbed an outstretched branch with his free arm and used his momentum to swing around and up onto it. He climbed a few close branches, and set himself up overlooking the men once more, now much closer to them than he was before. He intentionally set out to scan the tree tops, however, as he knew that was where these beings were hiding.

"I'll come to Florida one day and make you look like a damn princess." ~Hep